Chalkdust
by peacelilybryony
Summary: Harry, Ron, and Hermione return to complete their 7th year. Hermione is Head Girl, and Julius Halor joins the staff as the D.A.D.A. teacher. Professor Halor is a great teacher, and the students are happy to have him. But could he be connected to the mysterious occurrences Hermione witnesses in her after-hour patrols? What exactly is going on in the darkest hours at Hogwarts?
1. Chapter 1

Hermione was fighting to keep her eyes open as she finished her last patrol of the halls for the night. The thought of the Arithmancy work and Transfiguration essays she hadn't yet completed made her footsteps even heavier. But as tedious and time consuming as some of her Head Girl tasks were, she adored the responsibility. Hermione took pride in the fact that hundreds of younger students were able to depend on her for answers and help and, most importantly, for a pristine example of what a Hogwarts student should be.

She was just about to take a shortcut behind a portrait of Wendelin the Weird up to the Gryffindor tower corridor when she heard a faint shuffling of shoes on the stone. Wishing students would simply stay in bed so she could head that way also, she set off back around the corner from which she'd just come. She passed the Charms classroom, thought of the honesty charm she hadn't quite mastered, and sighed as she saw a young student with flowing hair the color of a unicorn's tail in the distance.

Hermione began to catch up to the student but then hesitated. There was something odd about the way the girl was walking. Her chin was ducked, and her head swayed from side to side as she slid her feet. Was this actually a sleepwalker?

Hermione moved in front of the girl to stop her. She gently put one hand on the girl's shoulder and the other on her opposite elbow and peered into a dazed face she didn't recognize. The girl hadn't even noticed Hermione or the fact that she was being prevented from moving. Her small, glazed, Arctic blue eyes were only half open and clearly not actually taking in their surroundings. Hermione had never seen a sleepwalker before, but it looked more like magic than sleep was involved in the girl's odd behavior.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" Hermione hoped she wouldn't startle the girl. "Hello?" Hermione gently patted the girl's shoulder to try to fully wake her.

With still no response, Hermione left a hand on the girl's shoulder and pulled out her wand. "Ennervate,"

The girl's head snapped up, and her eyes focused on Hermione, quickly displaying surprise and confusion followed by slight fear.

"I'm Hermione, Head Girl. Can you tell me your name?"

The girl hesitated, still attempting to figure out exactly where she was and what she was doing there. "Bryony," she said looking around.

"What are you doing out here Bryony?"

"I… I'm not sure," she said, becoming alarmed.

"It's nearly midnight. What's the last thing you remember doing?"  
"I went down late for dinner. I… was by myself… I'd stayed late in the library to study. I really don't…" Bryony was getting more confused and frightened.

"What house are you in?" Hermione redirected.

"I'm a Ravenclaw." Bryony was relieved to finally have a sure answer.

"Well let's get you off to bed." Hermione led the young Ravenclaw back to her dorm. She was relieved the situation seemed to be innocent enough and wouldn't have to take more study time to report it. This wasn't a student sneaking out to see a young lover or chasing an adventure. But what exactly had Bryony been doing in the hours between dinner and midnight?

"Hermione, your notes are trailing into the butter," Ron advised offhandedly with a wave of the toast in his hand.

"What? Oh…" Hermione acknowledged belatedly. She rolled up the portion of parchment she'd already thoroughly studied and continued reading.

"What do you reckon our odds are against Hufflepuff this week?" Ron asked Harry, recognizing that conversation attempts with Hermione would be futile.

"They've got talent, but it's new talent, untrained talent. If we play like we've been in practice, I think we'll have the match." Harry answered.

Ron nodded in agreement and returned a small wave from Julius Halor, the year's new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who was crossing the Great Hall to the staff table. Professor Halor valued the few students who'd advanced to the seventh year in his subject and never failed to offer a small wave of acknowledgment anytime he met one of them in passing.

"Do you reckon Tom Riddle's curse on that job still holds now that he's dead?" Ron asked to nobody in particular.

Harry glanced in the direction of Ron's gaze at Professor Halor, who was now greeting Professor Slughorn, and shrugged. "Well, we'll know at the start of next term I suppose."


	2. Chapter 2

During a quiet June of grieving, recovering, and rebuilding at the Burrow, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had sent an owl to Professor McGonagall requesting to be allowed to finish their educations. Professor McGonagall had quickly responded, replying that she would consider it a personal insult had they not returned and enclosed their school lists along with Hermione's Head Girl badge.

The three had known that returning to Hogwarts would mean being educated with students a year younger than they were and that most of their friends had moved on to start careers, but they quickly adjusted to the new classmates and found that apart from shared hidden and sometimes visible scars, things were not that different around Hogwarts. Neville and Luna wrote regularly from London where Neville was doing a research term at St. Mungo's with healing plants and Luna was spending her time assisting at the apothecary in Diagon Alley. Harry especially enjoyed the new arrangements at Hogwarts since it meant the majority of his classes now also included Ginny.

Harry and Ron filed after Hermione into the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and Ginny, short of breath, ran in behind them.

"Overslept," she gasped.

Harry gently put a hand on Ginny's left arm as she used it to hold her bag open and hurriedly locate class materials. He still hadn't lost his appreciation of constantly being able to smell her woodsy perfume or the lingering of the mint shampoo she used.

Hermione, who had been scanning the chapter from last class, looked up as she heard the door from Professor Halor's office clink shut.

"Hello again," he greeted in his ever calm, reserved manner. "Underwater defense," he went on without delay, "is where we left off. So far, we've discussed methods of surviving underwater for lengths of time whether for fighting purposes or not. Let's move on to different types of underwater creatures you might need to defend yourself against."

Hermione glanced around the small gathering of the most advanced Defense students. She adored the small, focused, and highly advanced classes of seventh year. Because fewer, but more intense, classes were taken during seventh year, classes were small enough to group students from all four houses together.

Professor Halor continued the lesson in his conversational tone. He spoke of mermaid talons and the snares of grindylow grips the same way he might discuss his favorite Quidditch team. Hermione found him very engaging. Professor Halor welcomed questions from the young scholars, thoughtfully considering each while tilting his sandy haired head to the side and turning his misty gray eyes upward, then answering from his bottomless pit of knowledge. All of the final year courses were well taught, but Hermione felt that Professor Halor packed a month's worth of learning into each lesson.

"We'll meet at the lake next time to test some of our techniques," Professor Halor concluded with a clap of his hands.

There were light rustlings as quills and parchment were packed into bags and oak chairs scraped away from the large communal class table. Everyone walked quietly into the corridor, still absorbing Professor Halor's information and struck with both fear and excitement that they'd actually be in the lake so soon.

Professor Halor saw the seventh years out and waited in the corridor for his next class to enter. Hermione watched as several young Hufflepuffs headed into the classroom from which she'd just come. She squinted and frowned as a couple of students momentarily and almost unnoticeably hid smiles, averted eyes, and hunched shoulders as they passed Professor Halor. It was almost as though they were hiding guilt or trying to pass under his gaze undetected. _Probably haven't read the chapter. I hope he calls on them. They'll learn,_ Hermione thought authoritatively before hooking her hand in Ron's elbow.

"She's still in there crying," said a small, dark headed girl to a chubby girl wearing a braid, both passing in the opposite direction.

"But she's been in there ages!" replied the other.

"Won't talk about it either," the dark headed girl added.

Hermione switched into Head Girl mode. But, not wanting to be nosy, she didn't stop the girls for more details about which student or which bathroom. She needn't have bothered anyway because, as she suspected, there was a faint sobbing noise coming from the girls' bathroom they were about to pass.

Ron and Harry hadn't even noticed the noise, but when Hermione paused by the bathroom door and released Ron's arm, Ginny leaned in front of Harry to speak closer to Hermione.

"Want me to come with?" she offered dutifully.

"It's alright." Hermione waved as a dismissal. She ducked her chin and shared a flirting, close-lipped smile with Ron before disappearing into the bathroom.

Hermione let the heavy, wood door latch behind her and took a deep breath before going to survey the situation. The bathroom was empty except for the girl, whose sobs had gotten quieter since Hermione entered. Hermione crouched down and saw feet in the furthest stall from the door.

Hermione knocked quietly, hoping the girl had noticed her approaching footsteps. "Hello? Mind if I come in?"

The girl hadn't bothered to lock the stall door, and after a pause with no response, Hermione gently pushed the door open.

There was a small figure slumped on the front of the toilet. It was a few seconds before the tiny Asian girl lifted her face from her hands and allowed her veil of silky black hair to fall back on her shoulders. She squinted timidly up at Hermione with swollen eyes and lips sticking out in a pout. Her expression swayed between embarrassment and distress.

"What's happened?" Hermione asked calmly.

The girl's face fell back to embarrassment. "I don't know…" She began timidly. Then, raising her voice to a shrill whine, "I don't know! I woke up this morning feeling like something bad was going to happen, and then after breakfast I started gathering my homework, and I picked up my villainous ghosts essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and it was like I couldn't breathe. I was so frightened, and I knew I shouldn't go."

The girl sniffed and rested her chin in her hands, slouching even more. "I know it doesn't make any sense. I don't know what's wrong." She waved a hand absentmindedly. "I just feel… guilty or something." She hid her face. "I can't go."

Hermione was positively baffled. She had no idea what to make of the odd tirade the girl had just given. "Well," she finally began, "Did writing about villainous ghosts spook you? Some creatures are scary, but that's the point of the class – to teach you to protect yourself against them. You have to get the knowledge to make yourself unafraid."

This was the first instance Hermione had ever heard of a student being this fearsome of merely the _theory_ of dark creatures. But then, who knew what this girl and her family had experienced in recent months. "You wouldn't even be late if we got you there right now. I'll walk you there."

The girl's eyes widened, and she shook her head spastically.

"Yes," Hermione insisted with a nod and a finger pointed toward the exit. "It sounds like a little anxiety about a tough class or two. But you seem very studious. I'm sure you'll do just fine," Hermione reassured firmly.

After a small delay and realizing Hermione would not back off, she slid off the toilet, drudgingly picked up her satchel, and defeatedly walked in front of Hermione out of the bathroom.

Hermione militarily escorted the girl through a nearly empty corridor all the way to Professor Halor's classroom and watched as the door swung shut, swallowing the timid, tiny figure attempting to slip in unnoticed. Hermione walked away, already too concerned with making her mental to-do list to connect the girl to the numerous shamed, frightened faces she'd seen walk through that same doorway, all hoping to avoid detection. After all, nervous first years were by far not the strangest thing she'd seen at Hogwarts.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione would never admit it aloud, but she hated Gryffindor Quidditch training nights - not because she had anything against Quidditch, but because the evenings of solitude gave her a tightening in her chest that only the company of one of her fellow Battle of Hogwarts survivors could relieve. Hermione couldn't escape the squeezing of her heart that lengthened the hours of loneliness. She had an especially difficult time when training evenings coincided with her patrol nights. Too many hours of quiet meant too much time for Hermione's memories to bob around in her head, each gruesome, bloody scene screaming and competing for attention inside her brain.

Some nights, Hermione had been lucky enough to pass an hour or two with Nearly Headless Nick, who was always happy to put his wanderings on hold should he happen to meet her. Hermione had also seen the Gray Lady pretty frequently, much more often than the handful of times she'd seen her in her first 6 years at Hogwarts. Hermione wasn't sure if the Gray Lady's appearance was a new development or if the Gray Lady had always wandered in the earliest hours of the morning. Despite the many sightings, The Gray Lady steered clear of Hermione, disappearing into paintings shortly after being spotted by Hermione's gaze. Hermione would love a good chat with the Gray Lady. She imagined the young, reserved ghost would have most intriguing tales to tell.

Hermione rested her back against the chilly, stone wall and watched the flame dance on a torch bracketed to the opposite wall. The hiss of the light drew Hermione into a reverie. She spent several minutes with her gaze lost in the blinding illumination, her mind drifting from the cursed fire in the Room of Requirement to her first travel by floo powder to roaring fires in fireplaces on Christmas Eves past with her parents.

Whispering in the distance jolted Hermione back to reality. _Again?_ She thought with an inward groan. Surely no other Head Boy or Girl had had to deal with as many nighttime wanderers as she had. Whispering meant there was more than one student out of bed. Hermione was mentally coaxing herself to get off the wall and deal with the situation when she realized the whispering was moving toward her. Instead, she waited patiently for the rule-breakers to appear.

"Almost there, Love. That's it. Follow on," echoed a coaxing voice.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise when it was the Gray Lady herself who rounded the corner, not noticing Hermione in her presence.

"Round the corner now. There we are, Love."

The sound of staggering, uneven footsteps preceded the appearance of a drunk-looking preteen Ravenclaw girl with honey colored curls cascading down her shoulders. The girl slowly made her way around the corner while the Gray Lady watched vigilantly though she would unfortunately be unable to stop a sudden crash into the wall or floor.

Hermione didn't know what to make of the situation. She flattened herself further against the wall to make sure the girl didn't run into or trip over her.

The Gray Lady glided backwards past Hermione, her eyes widening in surprise when she first glimpsed her and then narrowing into slits of anger at Hermione for daring to catch her unexpectedly. It was clear the Gray Lady thought Hermione had no business being witness to the odd journey.

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione slowly joined the pair, positioning herself close enough to the student to catch her if she began to sway. The three made it to the bottom of Ravenclaw tower without the Gray Lady acknowledging that Hermione had joined, her only words being coaxing directions to the girl.

Hermione watched as the Gray Lady and the student disappeared inside the Ravenclaw common room. She made her way back down the tower stairs, sure that would be the last she saw of the soft-spoken ghost for the evening. She had already traveled through several corridors when the same quiet voice whispered in her ear. Hermione jumped but stifled the reflex to scream.

"Young miss?" The Gray Lady floated into view.

Hermione stopped walking and met the Gray Lady's gaze.

"You must take care wandering these halls," she paused, unused to conversations with those outside her house and torn between scolding and concern. "They are not safe, the young girls. I know not what's happening, and they cannot remember. I find them, wandering and unaware." She paused again, her eyes darting back and forth across the hallway. She had clearly stored this disturbing information for a good while, and it frightened her to share it aloud.

"I find them and escort them to their houses. I ensure they do not wander alone." Her eyes bored into Hermione's, searching for answers. "Do you know what's happening?" she asked hopefully. "Have you seen?"

Hermione was forced to shake her head, still too stunned both by the shocking information and the sudden courage of the person delivering it to contribute to the conversation. She let the information swim in her head, allowing it to rearrange itself and mingle with memories. _Female students… magic induced drunken wandering at night… unaware… no memories of strange events… hidden… Bryony…_ Snapshots of girls flinching when spoken to by a conversational professor, hunching shoulders in an attempt to hide as they entered a classroom, and crying in bathroom stalls zoomed through Hermione's brain. There had been weeks between each odd occurrence. Hermione hadn't even considered that they might be connected or that one person might tie them all together. _But what exactly would he…_

"No… No, I… I don't know," Hermione finally stammered. She shook her head again.

"Please be safe. I will watch over you, too," The Gray Lady said with a slight bowing of her head before gliding away.

Hermione stood with her feet glued to the stone and her head spinning. She suddenly felt very vulnerable and exposed standing in the deserted hallway. _Wandering at night… unaware… frightened girls… Weeks and weeks of strange occurrences… _What the hell had been going on?

Hermione didn't care that she still had an hour left of her shift. She tore down the corridors toward Gryffindor tower, careening around corners and hurtling behind paintings into secret passageways. She threw open the back of a country scene with all the force she had and sprinted out onto the sixth floor. She found her feet level with her head and a felt a stabbing pain in her right shoulder before she realized she'd crashed into something and had fallen.

Ever-calm eyes and a face shadowed by the dim light peered down at Hermione. Hermione's eyes traveled from the midnight blue robes of the person she hadn't managed to dishevel in their collision up to a familiar face. She screamed in recognition and scuttled backwards on the floor.

Professor Halor laughed good-naturedly. "My goodness. One would think I'm the Bloody Baron." When Hermione remained frozen with a look of horror on her face, Professor Halor became concerned. "Has something happened?"

He had no idea that _he_ was what was terrifying Hermione. She hesitated and then slowly shook her head. _Late night wanderings… crying in bathroom stalls… no memories of strange events…_

"No? What's got you spooked?"

Hermione drew her legs in and stood, taking a few steps further away from Professor Halor.

"The Gray Lady…" she began.

"Oh! Encountering a ghost by yourself in the middle of the night is often unpleasant," he interrupted. "Come to my office for a cup of calming chamomile tea. Or a butterbeer, perhaps? I assure you my office is very well lit and far less spooky," he smiled reassuringly.

Short, quick breaths pounded against her heart. Hermione felt horribly trapped and was unsure what to do. She followed obligingly for the short, silent walk to Professor Halor's office. She should've run, insisted she had studying to do, made any excuse. But she had to be sure, had a duty to keep the students safe.

Professor Halor had been true to his word. Several lanterns and a roaring fire illuminated his office, also giving an added warmth against the chilly corridor. At first Hermione thought they'd entered the library. Walls were hardly visible through the masses of carefully organized and shelved books. A good portion of the office was taken by what looked like a lab area with many beakers, small cauldrons, and glass tubes carefully arranged. A tea set sat on a large oak desk positioned adjacent to the fireplace.

Professor Halor poured a cup of tea and set it on a forest green side table positioned between two maroon armchairs in front of the fire. He gestured for Hermione to have a seat and grabbed a journal, quill, and ink from his desk and sitting opposite her.

Hermione stared into the white logs at the base of the flames while Professor Halor checked his pocket watch and wrote a few sentences. Was it merely an hour ago that she'd been so naïve, too stupid to piece together what was so incredibly obvious? How had she missed it? How had nobody else noticed? But she still didn't know what exactly he'd been doing.

"The Gray Lady, she said she's seen some odd things happening around this time of night. Are you up this late often?" Hermione finally ventured to ask.

"I do enjoy doing research at night. No interruptions, clear mind, you know," he nodded.

Hermione took another sip of tea. "What kind of research are you doing?"

"Very innovative stuff indeed. Potions really. At the moment, I'm experimenting with a temporary memory loss potion, more of a memory formation prevention potion.

"Why wouldn't you just use _obliviate_?" Hermione glanced at the elaborate work station behind them.

"I'm attempting to create something that could ultimately be sold to muggles for use," he explained readily.

"But why? Would the muggles know what they were buying?"

Professor Halor smiled. "Well, more or less. There's quite a market for a very specific need in the muggle world."

Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. She'd dived into the dangerous waters without looking, and now she had to force herself to hit the jagged rocks at the bottom. "Professor Halor, what exactly are you creating?"

Professor Halor straightened in his chair and sat up importantly, preparing for a well rehearsed explanation. "I'm working to create a safe, highly effective potion that will prevent a memory from being formed for a specific amount of time. Theoretically, larger doses will be effective for longer periods of time, and ideally, the potion will erase memories for a short amount of time preceding the consuming. But there are many variables to work out." He gestured with his hands, offering the questions. "Does age of the person matter, or merely the weight? Does how fast the potion is taken affect the effectiveness? Does what happens during the period of would-be memory formation affect the results?" He paused to add to his notes.

"I'd made much progress. But when I reached the stage where I needed live subjects, I realized I couldn't test a memory formation prevention potion on myself. So I started using the students who came in for detentions and extra work as subjects. Why not? They already owed the time." He ran the end of his quill along the edge of the side table.

Hermione was mortified. She could feel her heartbeat steadily accelerate, the blood turning to ice in her veins. She couldn't even bring herself to blink. _He couldn't mean. No... no...  
_

"I started by simply administering the potion and observing the effects, timing the different stages. They can go completely unconscious or simply be willing servants depending on the dose. Then I added 'events' such as playing music, introducing uncomfortable heat or cold, moving the subject, holding a conversation, and inflicting pain to see if the subject would remember them. Then, of course, I added intimacy as that's why most consumers will want to purchase the product. After all, there are no complaints when there are no memories." He smiled and spread his hands, literally offering the magic solution.

Hermione stopped breathing. She had turned to stone. Stone was strong, sturdy. Stone was safe.

"And so far neither the unconscious or viable subjects have remembered anything, not even when I know I've left bruises. I've even made small cuts on legs or arms, just to check reactions – but nothing. Nor do they even remember coming to my office. It's a sheer success. The only bit I have left is to make sure the memories don't resurface after a length of time. But if it truly is a memory formation _prevention_ potion, then there will be no memories to recover," he finished proudly as though he were explaining his recipe for award winning pie crust.

Hermione pressed her back against the back of the chair, shrinking and willing it to swallow her or perhaps suddenly catapult her out of the room. She could not believe what she'd gotten herself into. Why hadn't she gotten McGonagall? _What_ had she been thinking?

"So far I've only experimented with pre-pubescent girls. But our collision was well-timed." He checked his pocket watch again. "I've been needing to try the solution on an older subject, someone with more body mass. No offense, my dear. You are quite lovely of course. But I need to know if the hormones affect the outcome, if the proportions of ingredients need to change, how long the potion takes to take effect, how long the effects last." He glanced at his notes. "Much to study. For instance, it does appear that late-adolescent women need a larger dose. We've gone nearly ten minutes since I've drugged you, and you're still lucid. None of my other subjects made it past four."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N I intended to conclude this story with the disturbing cliffhanger at the end of chapter 3, but then the writing itch kept nagging me, and I felt I'd left part of a story untold. It's just criminal to leave any part of a story untold. Thus… the plot thickens… (Thanks for all who are reading!)

"Still feeling that patrol?" Ginny asked as Hermione finally began to wake. Ginny, already fully dressed and nearly ready for breakfast, had considered waking Hermione, but decided Head Girl deserved to sleep in if she was still so exhausted.

Hermione ached the way she ached when she had a flu coming on. She slowly straightened and stretched her legs, pointing her toes underneath her blankets. She sighed. "What's today?"

"Tuesday," Ginny replied with a small laugh.

"Right… And what classes do we have on Tuesdays?" Hermione asked in a groggy voice with her eyes still closed.

Ginny stopped brushing her hair to give her full attention to Hermione. "Are you feeling alright?" she asked, her face transforming from amusement to concern.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, quickly throwing her eyes open and sitting up to face Ginny. "Is there… Did we have anything due today?" The sudden movement made her slightly dizzy, and she leaned forward to massage her forehead.

"Should I get you something? Or get Madame Pomfrey?" Ginny sat on the edge of Hermione's bed.

"No." Hermione forced herself to get out of bed and locate her robes and shoes but wouldn't meet Ginny's eyes. She paused between each task, for some reason unsure of where she'd put everything last time she'd used it. She could feel Ginny's eyes attempting to search her for answers.

"You can go ahead. I'll be down in a minute," Hermione finally said in an attempt to get Ginny's attention off of her.

Ginny didn't move. She was unwilling to leave Hermione alone in such an odd, half-wake trance.

Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to look Ginny in the face. "Really. Go on. I'll be right there," she attempted to reassure in what she hoped was a strong voice.

Ginny waited a moment longer, but when Hermione didn't drop her gaze, she slowly left, looking back as she exited the doorway.

Hermione sighed and relaxed, dropping her shoulders. She was glad to finally be alone to try to make sense of everything. Hermione couldn't explain it. She didn't feel like she was getting sick, but she felt… _bad_ - a strange mix of guilt, shame, regret, failure, and exhaustion. It wasn't quite the way she felt when a dementor was around. Dementors did bring out a feeling of failure in her, but even they didn't weigh on her this heavily. More than anything, she wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep until the feeling went away.

After attempting breakfast but finding the mass of people chattering, breathing, and looking at her too oppressive, Hermione stole away as quickly as she could without running so as not to draw attention and in a panic ran back to Gryffindor tower. She took shelter in a bathroom stall.

Thankfully, all the other Gryffindor girls had either gone down to breakfast or were already making their way to classes. In the silence, Hermione shut her eyes and took deep breaths, attempting to calm herself. _Ok… what's wrong, Hermione? What's wrong? You're safe. You haven't let anyone down. Nothing has happened. Just breathe._

When she felt like she'd gained control of her thoughts and breathing, Hermione made her way back to bed, thankful that the 7th year girls' bedroom was also still empty and that Ginny hadn't followed to check up on her.

The faint rustling of paper hitting the stone floor woke Hermione as she stirred in her sleep. The sunlight streamed through the window at a slight slant. Hermione figured she must've slept through lunch. She, thankfully, did feel somewhat better, but spending the rest of the day in bed still sounded like a good idea.

Just noticing the note that had fallen from her bed and woken her, Hermione leaned over and picked it up.

_We missed you in class today. Ginny said you weren't feeling well. If you're up to it later, I'd be happy to catch you up on the lesson. Feel better, and stop by any time._

_Professor Halor_

_Well that was thoughtful._ Hermione wondered if he did the same for all students who missed his class. She made a note to visit him after dinner when he was sure to be finished teaching for the day, and settled back into her pillows.

Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to let herself fall asleep again or not. She'd had such odd dreams. Not particularly scary or happy, but odd flashes of light, disembodied voices speaking words she didn't understand, and the Grey Lady hovering in front of her. What an odd choice of ghost for her subconscious to drag into a dream so forcefully. She'd never even spoken to the Grey Lady before.

"Hermione! Come on in," Professor Halor stepped out of his office doorway so Hermione could enter. "Feeling better?"

"Much," Hermione answered, unwilling to describe her symptoms of shame and failure, which were suddenly and inexplicably heightened, to her professor.

"Glad to hear it." Professor Halor gently closed the door. "Can I offer you a snack?" He gestured to a tray of lemon cookies on the small table between the fireside chairs.

"No, thank you," Hermione offered with a smile. The warmth and oddly sweet smell in the office was making her queasy.

"Well let's get to business then." Professor Halor sat in one of his maroon armchairs and gestured for Hermione to sit opposite him.

"We began the study of unforgivable curses today, not that that's an unfamiliar topic for you," he smiled. "You picked a good day to be sick." He nibbled on one of the lemon cookies.

"However, we did study some of their history - when they were developed, when they were outlawed, some of the variations on the curses, and what shields do and don't work against them." He held up a small, gold colored book. "I'll let you borrow this. It's all in here."

Hermione hadn't caught much of what he'd said. The churning in her stomach was getting more and more violent, and her head was beginning to swim.

"Thanks," Hermione acknowledged when she realized she was being allowed to borrow the book Professor Halor was extending toward her.

"So did Madame Pomfrey fix you up?" Professor Halor asked conversationally.

Hermione shook her head, too afraid to open her mouth.

"No? She works wonders. Might not have had to miss class had you gone to see her. What got you ill then? Did you eat something funny?"

Again Hermione shook her head, shutting her eyes tight against the tsunami waves crashing inside her skull.

"Could be stress. Can't imagine having your course load _and_ being Head Girl." Professor Halor said appreciatively. Unnoticed by Hermione, he stood to pour himself a cup of tea from the set on his desk. "But do you remember what you ate last night? Because that could be – "

But what it could be, Hermione didn't have a chance to hear because she was already dashing down the hall with her hand clamped to her mouth, willing herself not to vomit before she reached the bathroom.

Already gagging, Hermione leaned over a sink, her fingernails scraping the porcelain and her knuckles white. She gagged forcefully a few more times, then straightened, gasping. She was thankful she hadn't eaten anything all day and even more grateful she hadn't been sick in Professor Halor's office.

Regaining composure, Hermione pushed back her sleeves and splashed cold water on her face. Icy droplets trickled down her forearms as she cradled her chin. She squinted into the mirror, thinking it must be dirty. But when the dirt spots moved along with her reflection's arms, she glanced down in shock. Both of her arms had large, angry purple bruises on them just above her elbows.

Hermione lifted her arms to see how far the bruises stretched in her reflection. Tiny purple dots sat in neat rows on the backs. She counted them – 4 on each arm. Hermione gently poked them, inflicting pain to make sure they were real. What could she have possibly done to herself to leave such marks? Hermione didn't remember running into anything or… anything… She'd never felt so confused, so empty and yet so uncomfortably saturated with emotion at the same time. It was exhausting.

Hermione scanned the floor for her bag. Oh no. In her hurry, she'd of course left her book bag and the book Professor Halor was letting her borrow as well. She'd have to return to Professor Halor's office. And with that realization, Hermione ducked into a stall as the ever-expanding volume of her shame and confusion violently erupted from her stomach.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been several weeks since Hermione's stomach bug. She was getting used to her occasional overwhelming feelings of guilt or shame and figured they came with the job of being Head Girl and top of her class mixed up with her emotions from the aftermath of the war. On a chilly and dreary November afternoon, she and Ginny were headed to the entry hall to wait for Harry and Ron, who were finishing up stuffing themselves with a Hogwarts lunch, to join them on a Hogsmeade weekend.

"Is that the Grey Lady again?" Ginny squinted down the corridor, and Hermione followed her gaze. "She always used to be so shy."

"Hmmm," Hermione acknowledged. It was indeed the Grey Lady hovering above a suit of armor, surverying the students passing. None stopped to chat with her or even looked at her. Her penetrating eyes locked with Hermione's, but her expression remained blank.

"Oh!" Hermione gave a startled cry. Ginny's shoulder had been painfully thrust into Hermione's back. A sixth year girl hurrying a hyperventilating friend down the corridor had unknowingly knocked into Ginny. Seeing the source of the commotion, neither Hermione or Ginny was alarmed. A hyperventilating or panicked student was practically commonplace in the fifth, sixth, and seventh years. The crowd parted respectfully so the student could quickly make her way to Madame Pomfrey for her Calming Concoction. With the amount of students hitting up the hospital wing, Hermione thought it might be simpler if each teacher kept a few doses in his or her own classroom.

The disturbance awkwardly made its way around the corner, and the bore of the Grey Lady's gaze burning into her made Hermione turn her eyes upward again. Seeing she had Hermione's attention again, the Grey Lady gave a reverent duck of her chin, attempting to convey much more than could be stated with words. Without ever taking her eyes off Hermione, she glided backwards through the stone wall, leaving Hermione with goosebumps and wondering what she was supposed to understand.

Hermione wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself as the four made their way down the narrow street to Honeydukes.

"Well, what do you reckon? We've almost made it to Christmas, haven't we?" Ron commented as he glanced quickly and hungrily at the festive Christmas display of candy boxes in the window. The bell above the door tinkled as Ron opened it, announcing the entrance of yet more Hogwarts students. Hermione wondered if the school sent an owl ahead to warn the Hogsmeade businesses before unleashing hundreds of teenagers with pocketfuls of spending money every few months.

Ron had tried to inconspicuously wander over to the gift display. Hermione noticed him perusing the caramel filled chocolate pumpkins and peppermint bark that were her favorite candies and helpfully went across the store to look through the hard candies. She wouldn't be buying any gifts there. She was already planning on getting muggle gifts for everyone. Ron had recently dabbled in sketching, so she planned to get him a charcoal set and sketch pad.

The bins of brightly colored sugar candies gave way to tubs of filled truffles and various chocolate covered snacks. Ginny was staring curiously at the wide variety of bugs Honeydukes had decided to bathe in chocolate.

"Maybe they leave bowls of melted chocolate outside and let the bugs wander in on their own," Harry suggested jokingly as he walked up. Ginny and Hermione both laughed and turned away to find more appetizing treats.

After leaving the shop armed with festive red and green paper bags, spending some time in Zonko's, and a short spell in Tomes and Scrolls, the local book shop, the four made their way to the Hog's Head for butterbeers, the only thing on the pub menu they trusted. Though they never exchanged words with Aberforth or stayed in the pub long, the four always took the time to show their continued appreciation of Aberforth's support of the students, mostly Dumbledore's Army, during the Carrow's regime of the previous school year. They could count on a reverent nod from Aberforth behind the bar as a waiter brought out their drinks. Smiles were returned, drinks were enjoyed and remembrance was silently shared.

"Ginny, we've still got to get that new Weird Sisters album for Mum," Ron said, setting down his mug.

She nodded. "What are you getting for Dad?"

"I dunno." He shrugged. "What're you getting?"

"We should take him to a muggle resale shop while we're in London," Hermione suggested thoughtfully.

"But you'd never get him out," Harry added with a smile.

"Anybody else we forgot to get a gift for?" Hermione asked.

"Are we doing professor gifts this year?" Ginny added.

"Oh we should! It's our last Christmas with them!" Hermione said sentimentally.

"Yeah," Ron nodded thoughtfully. "Feels weird to be leaving forever," he trailed off.

"It's only November," Harry said, trying to lighten the mood. "We thought we were leaving for the last time last year too didn't we? Doesn't mean we won't see these people again."

"Yeah. Slughorn will probably be inviting you to his grave for tea," Ginny grinned. "Well, back to the gifts – let's all pitch in and get them giant boxes of Honeydukes fudge."

"You just want to go back to Honeydukes," Harry winked.

"Well…I could always use more cockroach clusters," Ginny smiled.

"So are there any boxes we need to slip any fever fudge into?" Ron said, rubbing his chin in mock thoughtfulness.

"Let's see… McGonagall, Slughorn, Halor…" Ginny started naming while counting on her fingers.

Hermione shivered involuntarily, and her hand jerked against her mug of butterbeer. All three heads turned toward her. "Sorry. Didn't spill, did it?" She picked up her mug and drained the small amount that was left.

"We'd better get going if we're going back to Honeydukes," Harry said, standing up.

"Right," Ron nodded.

"Now, I understand some members of this class experienced this in fourth year," Professor Halor said as he nodded in Harry, Ron, and Hermione's direction. He was halfway through his lecture on the Imperius curse. All the seventh years had of course known about the curse and its function, but they were surprised to learn that it was originally developed by the ministry in ancient times. Before the wizards had gone into hiding, the curse was developed to force muggles to lie when questioned about witnessing magical occurrences. Hermione found it ironic that several hundred years later the same body of government would be banning their own creation.

Professor Halor had warned them he'd be performing the curse on them in an attempt to build their resistance against it, much the way the fake Professor Moody had in Harry, Ron, and Hermione's fourth year.

"And I also understand that you became quite adept at resisting the curse," Professor Halor continued with his chin held as high as his standards. "Let's see if Mr. Potter still has what it takes."

Harry stepped forward obligingly. He was nervous but also felt confident Professor Halor wouldn't rebuke him should he fail the task.

After Professor Halor cast the curse, Hermione watched Harry awkwardly walk around the classroom. He looked as though his feet were stuck in quicksand. Hermione imagined that was his attempt to resist. The walking slowed as though the cement was drying, and finally, Harry was able to stop all movement.

"Well done!" Professor Halor praised. "He's still got it!"

Professor Halor cast the spell on each of the students, forcing them all to walk laps around the classroom. Several were able to achieve the cement-like walk, and a few stumbled or began to walk backwards as they resisted, but none were able to make a complete stop the way Harry had. Hermione was thankful Professor Halor didn't have them do anything more embarrassing than walk. She hadn't succeeded in resisting at all. She was slinging her book bag over her shoulder when she heard Professor Halor ask her to stay a minute. Hearing the request, Ginny, Ron, and Harry stepped out of the classroom to wait.

Before Hermione had a chance to wonder why she'd been asked to stay, Professor Halor very calmly drew his wand and commanded, "Imperio."

Hermione's mind went blank, and her breathing slowed to a perfect rhythm, her mind and body waiting for instructions. Then, a sultry voice filled her brain, echoing in between her eardrums.

_ Have you visited my office?_

"Yes."

_ What did you do when you visited my office?_

"I discussed my school work and my illness," Hermione continued in her enchanted, robotic voice.

_ Have you spent any other time alone with me? Have you visited my office on any other occasion?_

Both yes and no were colliding with each other in Hermione's brain, bouncing off her skull and hitting each other like bumper cars. She wasn't sure which she was supposed to say.

_ Can you still hear me? Tell me if you've spent any time alone with me other than that visit._

"I'm not sure," she finally spat out.

Think hard. Is it yes, or no?

Hermione's head was clouding. More and more responses were filling her head, each fighting to find the way out.

_ Answer me._

"I don't have the answer."

_ When you do, you must not speak of it to anyone but me. Do you understand?_

"I understand."

Professor Halor had gathered his class materials and disappeared behind his office door before Hermione realized she was no longer enchanted.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione hadn't told anyone about her run-in with Halor that afternoon. She'd kept her composure as she went through the day, mostly because she didn't see any alternative. She was trying to relax by leisurely reading a book on the history of persecution of goblins in Germany. She'd curled up by the dying fire in the empty common room in the wee hours of the morning. But she was finding it difficult to concentrate from more than what had happened with Professor Halor.

It had been an odd day. During her patrol, she'd again spotted the Grey Lady – or rather, the Grey Lady had spotted her. The Grey Lady had rather intently glided toward her and began a somewhat fearsome conversation. With intense, direct speech, she too had asked about late evenings, frightened younger girls, and sick older girls, and all of it made Hermione feel that she was missing something huge, something obvious that was staring her in the face and clearly revolved around her. The Grey Lady had even alluded to some previous conversation they'd had.

But no matter what clues or information Hermione might be unknowingly ignoring, she was absolutely positive she'd never held a conversation with the ever-timid Grey Lady before that evening. And when she made these denials to the Grey Lady, the ghost's eyes filled with horror and clouded over with sadness. It appeared that Hermione's words were a confirmation of the ghost's worst fears. Even more unsettled and confused and feeling that she'd nearly reached her emotional limit, Hermione had turned in early from her patrol for the first time.

Giving up on actually absorbing any information, Hermione slammed the library book shut, sighed, and heaved herself out of the armchair and off to bed. She dreamt she was still in the armchair by the fire. There was a small green side table on top of which sat an impossible mountain of lemon cookies. A tea cup hovered above Hermione's head, and a wide array of potions equipment lurked on a long wooden table behind her. And suddenly, she wasn't in the chair but lying on the stone hearth in front of the fire. Hermione felt an inability to move or speak and wondered if she wasn't actually on the stone but had become one of the stones themselves. She had turned to stone. Stone was strong, sturdy. Stone was safe A disembodied face bobbed over her, the unchanging, frozen oval of Professor Halor's. Hermione's dreaming eyes followed the face as it weaved over her, growing larger and obscuring the view of anything behind it. The face continued to dance as the scene grew darker and darker, and Hermione's dream faded into blackness.

Hermione was making another attempt at the persecution book as Harry and Ron hastily finished up essays across the table. The Great Hall was filled with the extra parchment, quills, and echoing quiet that always came with the end of a semester at Hogwarts. Deadlines in all classes were quickly approaching.

"Ugh, I just can't get it!" Ginny burst out. She took a menacing bite of toast. Ginny had been having trouble with nonverbal spells, something Harry relished since she was becoming noticeably better than him at everything else magical. However, he'd stopped teasing her about it when she began trying elongating his toenails for practice.

"You will," Harry said encouragingly while his feet twitched nervously under the table.

"But I don't know if I will by the exam." Ginny drank a sip of her tea. "I've made an appointment with Professor Halor. I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't get it after that. I'll be the only one in the class who can't!" She looked exasperated.

"Well don't fret until after you go for help. Professor Halor will sort you out." Harry felt he'd fulfilled his encouragement duties and returned to his essay.

When it looked like everyone was more or less done snacking on breakfast, Hermione commented that she needed some of her books from her trunk, and the four headed up to Gryffindor tower to continue their preparations.

It was a quiet Saturday in the common room, the kind of quiet that's filled with the fervor of busy brains and the hum of the occasional mutterings of students cross-checking information, studying quietly in groups, and attempting to memorize. Pages turned, quills scratched, and book after book was shut with a soft thump. The afternoon sun was wending its way behind the trees in the Forbidden Forest when Ginny headed to her meeting with Professor Halor. Hermione decided to stretch her legs by making a trip to the library, a trek which both Harry and Ron declined to join.

In the restricted section, Hermione roamed through the aisles, gazing up and down at the towers of books. Hermione wondered how often these thickest, oldest volumes were checked out. She took a deep breath and smiled to herself, relishing the fact that she was old enough to peruse any section of the library. The restricted section even smelled different, older and a little dustier. The air wasn't breathed as often in the restricted section.

Hermione found herself looking at the spine of _Moste Potente Potions_. She couldn't help smiling. How simple things had been in their second year. Parents to go home to at holidays, the feeling of security and safety that Hermione so desperately missed. Comfort that emanated from the stone walls of the castle fortress lovingly reigned over by an infallible and incredible man. Of course, then she'd found it necessary to use a mirror before turning corners and had been petrified by Voldemort's monster.

"Miss Hermione," The Grey Lady whispered from behind Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione jumped, disturbing the dust clouds.

"My apologies, Miss Hermione, but it's most urgent," The Grey Lady continued fervently.

Hermione pulled the strap on her book bag higher on her shoulder and steeled herself for another nonsense conversation with the ghost. The Grey Lady clearly had her confused with somebody else even though she had her name right, and Hermione was unsure how to stave her off without being rude.

"Your red-headed friend, she is going to Professor Halor's office," the Grey Lady stated with alarm.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "She has a meeting with him. He's going to help her with nonverbal spells," Hermione said slowly as though talking to a child. How did the Grey Lady know this?

"She's only just gone in! You must go! You can still get her out!" The ghost reached as though she were going to grab Hermione's arm and then froze, remembering she wouldn't be able to make contact. "Please…" her voice cracked. "You must… Something is terribly wrong in that office. I know not what happens, but nothing good comes of it."

The ghost sunk down on the floor and hugged her knees. She was completely broken. Hermione's eyes widened in alarm and concern.

"I can't help them. The young ones… The nightmares, the tears, the sickness and fear… He's hurting them! He's destroying them, and there's nothing I can do to stop him. None will listen, much less believe!" She paused, hiding a sob by dropping her face into her hands. She took a breath, attempted composure, and looked up. "I've watched it for months. And I can't…" She shook her head.

Her eyes focused on Hermione with new intensity. "You're one of them."

Hermione sucked in her breath and leaned backwards against the shelf. "W-what do you mean?" She suddenly felt attacked.

The Grey Lady, sensing Hermione's misunderstanding, stood and took a more comforting tone. "You don't remember. None of them do. But I know he's hurt you. You must try to remember. And you must go get your friend."


	7. Chapter 7

At this point, the Head Girl portion of Hermione's brain was telling her it was time to involve someone with more authority than she had.

"Have you talked to a professor about this?" she asked.

"We ghosts do not speak ill of a professor to another professor. It is most disrespectful," she replied dully.

Hermione wondered how long the Grey Lady had been trapped with these thoughts she was unable to share. She pondered all the information the ghost had given her and tried to make sense of it, attempting to piece together the jagged fragments the ghost had spluttered.

Like a hand slapping her face, the memory of the young Bryony Hermione had nearly forgotten flitted into Hermione's brain, along with the confusion and lethargy the young girl was plagued with… Another child crying in the bathroom afraid to go to Professor Halor's class but unsure why… and the memory of what must've been a dream of the Grey Lady escorting another semi-conscious Ravenclaw to her common room. The ghost had gotten the girl where she belonged and… _Merlin's beard!_ She and the Grey Lady _had_ spoken about this before.

Hermione sank onto the floor, her mouth and legs both sagging. She's suddenly lost all control of her muscles. The realization was coming to her in pieces…

"You warned me… But you didn't know what was happening at the time – who it was…"

The ghost glowed brighter, losing some of her transparency as she was filled with the relief that Hermione finally remembered and believed her. Then, seeing the shock and horror on Hermione's face, she descended to Hermione's level and spoke softly, hoping she hadn't completely broken the student by asking her to remember.

"I found you again later that night. I took you to Gryffindor tower, and for the entire journey you couldn't speak. I knew the same atrocities had happened to you - and that you wouldn't remember anything of it, that you wouldn't believe me when you awakened." The Grey Lady tried to convey as much sympathy and comfort as she could with her presence.

The two remained silent until Hermione remembered the original purpose of the Grey Lady's conversation. "G-Ginny!" she gasped. She stood suddenly, dropping her book bag but retrieving her wand, and sprinted away like lightning. Without a plan in mind, she called, "Find Professor McGonagall, and tell her there's an emergency in Professor Halor's office!" to the Grey Lady.

The stone walls blurred around Hermione as she ran. Being a Saturday, the corridors were mostly empty, but Hermione dodged the few fellow students and opening doors as if she were on an obstacle course, passing by onlookers so quickly that a few didn't even have time to recognize the whirlwind that was Hermione before she passed. She tore down passageways, up stairwells, behind portraits, moving so quickly that at some points she wasn't entirely sure she was still going the right direction.

The portrait of founder Helga Hufflepuff came into view and Hermione knew she was close. Heart pounding and mind racing, she didn't dare slow her speed. How long had it taken the Grey Lady to convince her to come? How many minutes had Ginny been in there before the Grey Lady had even found Hermione?

As Hermione barreled around the final corner she knew would take her to her destination, an icy, drenchingly thick mist enveloped her. She turned around and saw she'd run straight through the Grey Lady.

"Oh!" Hermione spluttered with a cracking sob. "Professor McGonagall…" she began again. Hermione seemed to be unable to connect multiple words and hoped her pleading, tearful eyes displayed everything she was trying to convey.

The Grey Lady held a finger to her lips and glided backward. She beckoned for Hermione to follow. The pair hid around the corner, and Hermione looked expectantly at the ghost.

"She was in her office. I explained as much as I dared and asked that she come immediately. She cast a _silencio_ charm on the door so it wouldn't squeak when she opened and shut it and then snuck in using her cat form. I don't think he knows she's an animagus."

"But what do we do?" Hermione asked urgently.

"I believe we can only wait."

Hermione figured that being dead for several hundred years gave the ghost much more patience than she herself possessed. A few agonizing seconds passed before Hermione asked if the Grey Lady would please check what was happening.

"Of course!" The Grey Lady rose with the sudden realization. "I've never actually known when it was happening. I've only seen the aftermath. But this time…" A look of ferocity glared from her eyes as she glided through the stone ahead of her.

Hermione was left in the corridor with only the murky pool of unorganized thoughts flooding her mind to keep her company. She slid down the stone wall underneath a torch and hugged her knees to her chest. She did her best to bring order to the chaos in her brain.

When had the first conversation between herself and the Grey Lady taken place? She thought of what else had been going on at the time… They'd begun study of unforgivable curses. She considered her stomach bug and weird bruises she'd had around that time. Had _he_ given those to her? That day was the beginning of those awful feelings that forever weighed heavily on her heart. She'd had them for so long now that she'd forgotten there'd been a time before they'd plagued her.

That must've been the night Professor Halor raped her. She knew that's what had happened even though she had no memory of the event or reason to believe that's what he'd done. Dirty humiliation and shame coursed through her, and she had no doubts about their cause. The fact that she couldn't even remember it made her feel even more unclean and vulnerable, like Professor Halor had access to all her deepest inadequacies and the power to display them to the world.

_How _dare_ he know what happened to me when I don't? _Hermione shouted in her , more quietly,_ How could I let that happen? _Hermione hugged her knees more tightly as a heavy urge to scour every inch of her body and drink a full pint of Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover to cleanse her insides overwhelmed her.

All the young girls who cowered when they saw Professor Halor – so many afraid faces… The girls she saw being rushed to Madame Pomfrey for the Calming Concoction – were they feeling the same things she was? For the same reason? The countless nameless faces flashed through Hermione's memory, and Hermione was struck by the magnanimity of Professor Halor's victim pool. First years… So, so many… Merlin's beard…

The fact that there had been so many victims oddly hurt Hermione even more. She'd simply been a number, another subject only used because she happened to be in the corridor. She hadn't been carefully selected or desired in some twisted way. She hadn't been special; she'd only been convenient. Rocks ground against each other in Hermione's stomach. So, so dirty… So worthless and used. How could she have let this happen to herself? She was better than that, smarter than that. She hid her face, willing her body to fold in on itself and dissolve into the chilled stone.


	8. Chapter 8

"Miss Hermione," the Grey Lady whispered.

Hermione lifted her forehead from her knees, and the cold air stung her face. She didn't see anybody and squinted, wondering if she'd imagined it.

Seeing her expression, the Grey Lady materialized. "Sorry, didn't want to be seen in there. Professor McGonagall watches quietly. Professor Halor and your friend are talking and having tea. They've discussed a wide variety of subjects."

Hermione stood indignantly, ready for action. "Why hasn't Professor McGonagall done anything?! What is she waiting for?!"

"Well… He has done nothing… despicable… yet." The Grey Lady looked uneasy, and Hermione understood. Though neither young lady said it, they were both horribly torn between needing Professor Halor to be caught doing something criminal and wanting Ginny to be safe.

"But I can't imagine Professor McGonagall would allow any harm to come to your friend. If she does not stop it before it gets too far, I will." With a renewed resolve, the Grey Lady disappeared and passed back through the wall.

Hermione focused on her feet and began to pace. Her heart was pounding, and thoughts were again flashing through her brain in broken pieces. What could she do? Should she get Harry and Ron? She couldn't worry them. Should she get another professor? Call the ministry? She didn't want to leave.

Picking up the pace of her feet, Hermione began to think of the many victims. How many of them were there? How many young children? How many older girls? Was this the first school Professor Halor had been experimenting in? That thought stopped Hermione in her tracks, and her head snapped up with a gasp.

She didn't have long to let that particular thought fester before another thought occurred to her. Hermione tore out of the short passageway and searched both directions for the nearest suit of armor. The closest was standing sentry in a distant corner at the end of the corridor. Hermione sprinted toward it, fiercely and nonverbally casting _locomoter mortis_ as she ran.

The knight turned his head toward Hermione and waited for instruction.

Hermione drew nearer, and, not wanting to be overheard, spoke directly. "Go into Professor Halor's office," she pointed. "Professor Halor intends to harm a student. Please protect the student and Professor McGonagall. Do as Professor McGonagall says, and don't let Professor Halor go anywhere." Hermione took off in search of another suit of armor.

Hermione searched Ginny's face as they, along with Harry and Ron, enjoyed a game of Gobstones on their last evening before Christmas vacation. It had been several days since Ginny's "meeting" with Halor, but Hermione hadn't been able to get Professor Halor and his crimes off her mind.

"You're doing it again," Ginny said as she met Hermione's gaze. Hermione kept looking for signs of anxiety, guilt, or confusion in Ginny that Hermione herself had come to know so well, some sign that Ginny remembered anything of what had happened. Luckily, she only saw tiredness, and that was probably due to exams.

Ginny thought Hermione's concern stemmed from her short visit to the hospital wing where she'd been taken after a "collapse from exhaustion." Or at least, that's what Ginny, Harry, and Ron had been told. Ginny remembered nothing, and both Professor McGonagall and Hermione, though the two hadn't talked, thought it best that she not be filled in, but it meant Hermione had to be haunted with the memories of last week's events alone.

It had all happened very quietly. Julius Halor knew he'd developed his potion to perfection. He'd long ago stopped exposing the girls to music, harsh light, and varying temperatures. They would remember nothing. He did still sometimes hurt them, but that was purely pleasure now and sometimes accidental. He hadn't gotten anywhere with Ginny. He'd only just begun ravenously removing her clothing after she passed out when Professor McGonagall transformed into a human ball of fury, petrified him, and used his fireplace to contact the ministry.

While a castle full of oblivious students had spent a late Saturday afternoon studying for semester exams, two suits of armor had clanked in and surprisingly tenderly moved Ginny away from the fire and Professor Halor. They stood guard over her while ministry officials spoke with a shocked and enraged Professor McGonagall, and then they ensured Professor Halor didn't somehow escape while the officials examined Ginny.

Professor McGonagall, who had been too caught up in the corruption of her colleague to be surprised at the awakening of two suits of armor, had ordered the knights to carry Ginny to the hospital wing when the ministry were done examining her and the office, and Julius Halor was carted off to Azkaban via the fireplace.

Hermione hadn't actually witnessed any of these events, but she was remembering the Grey Lady's description of Professor McGonagall's conversation with one of the ministry officials. Apparently Professor McGonagall had practiced great restraint when she'd realized the full extent of what was about to happen and what had been happening in _her_ school to _her_ students. She'd felt blinded and duped, and, like a mother bear, Professor McGonagall had wanted to maul Julius Halor with the Crucio curse. It had been one of the very few times Professor McGonagall had ever wished to use an unforgivable curse. Hermione smiled at the thought of her Head of House having a maternal instinct for her students.

"Your turn, Hermione," Harry prompted. Hermione was losing badly, but couldn't care less.

Hermione was the only victim who was aware of what had happened to her, and the ministry seized the opportunity. Along with the Grey Lady's testimony and Hermione's vague memories, the ministry felt they also needed to examine Hermione physically. This terrified Hermione, but the thought that Professor Halor might go free because she hadn't helped the investigation terrified her even more. She'd sat at a table surrounded by fierce, scowling men who asked her quite personal, intense questions about her rape that she embarrassingly wasn't able to answer. She'd had to suffer the uncomfortable and violating exam by herself. She hadn't breathed a word of it – the rape or the investigation - to anyone. To protect her privacy, the ministry hadn't informed Professor McGonagall of Hermione's involvement, but Hermione sadly wished they had. She desperately wanted to talk about it, to cry about it, with someone, but she didn't know how to tell anyone. How was she supposed to start a conversation like that? She wanted someone to just… know…

"Hey," Ron said with concern. Hermione looked to be near tears. "It's still three weeks until next term begins. It's too early to stress," he said, trying to make her smile. "We'll have a good Christmas." Ron smiled at Hermione as he caressed her back.

Hermione tensed involuntarily and gasped at his touch. The skin on her back trembled in an attempt to get away from the contact. Noticing her stiffness, Ron took his hand away and let his gaze linger for a moment, waiting for an explanation.

Hermione felt the tears welling up inside her and pushed the flood back down with a swallow. She owed him nothing. She didn't owe anyone anything. She couldn't handle any more questions, any more hurt, any more touch. Emotions swam inside her, and Hermione fought to bottle and bury them.

Rather than admit it was in pieces, her heart used the energy to transform itself into an unfeeling, rigid block of stone. Stone was unbreakable and didn't care if it had control. Stone was strong and sturdy and had no memories. Even a professor's experiments couldn't damage a stone.


End file.
